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Back The Shoe Queen
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. “And may I say, those shoes are adorable.”
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. ( I )
  7. ( one )
  8. ( two )
  9. ( three )
  10. ( four )
  11. ( five )
  12. ( six )
  13. ( seven )
  14. ( eight )
  15. ( nine )
  16. ( ten )
  17. ( II )
  18. ( eleven )
  19. ( twelve )
  20. ( thirteen )
  21. ( fourteen )
  22. ( fifteen )
  23. ( III )
  24. ( sixteen )
  25. ( seventeen )
  26. ( eighteen )
  27. ( nineteen )
  28. ( IV )
  29. ( twenty )
  30. ( twenty-one )
  31. ( twenty-two )
  32. ( twenty-three )
  33. ( twenty-four )
  34. ( V )
  35. ( twenty-five )
  36. ( twenty-six )
  37. ( twenty-seven )
  38. ( twenty-eight )
  39. ( twenty-nine )
  40. VI
  41. ( thirty )
  42. ( thirty-one )
  43. ( thirty-two )
  44. ( thirty-three )
  45. ( thirty-four )
  46. ( VII )
  47. ( thirty-five )
  48. ( thirty-six )
  49. ( thirty-seven )
  50. ( thirty-eight )
  51. ( thirty-nine )
  52. ( forty )
  53. ( forty-one )
  54. ( forty-two )
  55. ( VIII )
  56. ( forty-three )
  57. ( forty-four )
  58. ( forty-five )
  59. ( forty-six )
  60. ( forty-seven )
  61. ( forty-eight )
  62. ( forty-nine )
  63. ( fifty )
  64. ( fifty-one )
  65. Acknowledgments
  66. Acknowledgments
  67. Questions for Discussion

“We’re a bit of everything,” the second Mrs. Betterson was saying. “Editors, typists, experts on modern American hieroglyphics.” She held up a page with some particularly spidery handwriting. “Occasionally we even have time to do a little writing of our own.”

And now Genevieve realized something.

I want what these woman have. I want the deep water. But how do I get it?

“Norman’s just through there.” The first Mrs. Betterson pointed in the direction of the only other door, which was closed. “In bed.”

“Is he…unwell, Mrs. Betterson?” asked Genevieve.

“Actually I’m Mrs. Betterson,” said the woman at the table. “Augusta.”

“I beg your pardon.” Genevieve tried to smile, but the error was somehow doubly embarrassing, since everyone knew Betterson slept with both women, and rumor had it they slept with each other too.

“Don’t worry about it.” Augusta smiled brightly and went back to her typing.

“I’m Marianne,” said the not-Mrs. Betterson. “Would you like some tea? I’m making some for Norman anyway.”

“No, thank you. Norman…Is he ill? I mean, I know he’s ill, in general, but—”

Marianne went across to the stove, where a pot was boiling. “He had a bit of a turn last night.”

“His own fault, really,” said Augusta. “He completely over-did it. He got himself involved in some sort of performance at the Coyote. With that cabaret-artiste, Lulu of Montparnasse. Friend of yours, isn’t she?”

Genevieve looked down at the swirling pattern in the floorboards. “We’ve had a bit of a falling out, actually.”

“I gather there was something of a party atmosphere in the Quarter last night,” said Augusta. “A poet friend of Norman’s hit the proprietor of La Rotonde. And everyone hates that man, of course, so they were all celebrating. But perhaps you were there?”

Genevieve swallowed heavily. “Is Norman all right?”

“On this occasion, yes,” said Augusta. “He really needs to be careful with his health. But that’s not his idea of living.”

“One of these days…” Marianne shivered.

And now there was a sound of coughing from behind the closed door. Awful coughing.

Betterson was sitting up in bed with The Great Gatsby. He had a high color in his cheeks, and his eyes were glittering fiercely.

“Genevieve! How marvelous to see you. Won’t you get in?” He made as though to move across the bed and pull back the sheets.

“Norman, honestly.” She sat down at the very edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”